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But I don’t.

I pull back, lengthened claws like tenterhooks just barely grazing Caroline’s skin as I hold her away, as I pant like a big cat gorged on gore. “Fuck,” I growl, because she’s almost Lacie, but it’s not her. It’s not her at all.

Goddess, now this was stupid of me. In a crowded restaurant, where I could get caught? I’m obviously losing my mind. But I had to—I had to, and it made me—or I was going to launch across the table at Lacie and take her right then and there.

“Marcella?”

It’s testament to my age and experience that I don’t immediately panic. Instead, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, make sure there’s no sloppy spots of blood on my face.

And then, I turn, my head inclined. “Lyle. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Don’t give me that shit. What are you doing? Lacie’s alone—were you with her? I saw you come in together.”

He’s jumbled up, and who wouldn’t be? I give him a keen grin. “Oh, you know, a woman has needs. Caroline here was just helping me.”

For her part, Caroline is silent. I hope Lyle doesn’t see the scrim of blood on the wall where my tongue whipped out as I pulled away. I cross my arms and project the most bad-bitch energy I can.

“That’s pretty crass,” Lyle says.

“So is interrupting,” I fire back. “Thanks for that, by the way. We were all having a good time.” I take this to my advantage and turn back to a very pale, very confused Caroline. “Now, Caroline, we’ve had our fun. Run along and forget all about this, okay? I’m a very serious professor, and whenever you see me again, you’ll have nothing but respect for me, understand?”

She nods, her eyes wide, and I see that they aren’t the same as Lacie’s—not at all. They’re a dark brown. She scoots away, head down. Hell, that was a close call.

Blinking, I turn back to Lyle.

“What are you doing here? Thought you might take this chance to get away and grieve. It’s not good to be around so much death.”

“I have to— I’m involved in the investigation.”

I nod. “Are there any leads?”

“Nothing serious. They’re saying she jumped, but we made plans that morning. And she—” His words catch in his throat, and I almost feel badly for him. “—she didn’t look right. She didn’t—it wasn’t like her body looked like it’d been through a suicide. Her neck had been broken.”

I need him snooping around this like a hole in the head. I imagine what would happen if he found out about me: first things first, I’d have to kill him, and truly I like the man. “Internal decapitations happen.”

His eyes narrow. Ah, shit. When I’m disoriented after feeding usually I’m not asked to talk about the fine details of a murder mystery. “How did you know that?”

“Oh,” I say, flipping my dark hair, “it’s all over the place. There’s some article online being circulated with pictures. Really very ghastly. I’m sorry.”

He approaches me and for a second I think he’s going to deck me (which, honestly, would be a huge point in his favor) but instead he grabs my shirt. “Did you see the bites?”

“Lyle, I—”

“Did you see the bites?” he roars. “They told me it was rats but I know—I know—there’s more to it than that. Did you see them? Tell me!” He shakes me. “Tell me!”

“Lyle? Marcella?”

Never have I been gladder to see Lacie.

Her nose wrinkles as she approaches, like she can smell the gore in the air. I only hope that she writes it off as kitchen stink.

“What’s going on here?” she shouts. “Lyle! Let go of her!”

Lyle suddenly withers and releases me. I notice as he does that the sleeve of his pale blue shirt has a spatter of dark blood. “Oh—god. I’m—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, Marcella. I’m just—” He runs a hand down his face, the animal grief writ clear and final on his features. “I don’t know what came over me.”

Smoothing my shirt, I put on the softest smile I can. “It’s quite alright.” I pat his shoulder, something I’ve seen humans do at funerals. “I understand.”

As soon as appropriate, Lacie and I hightail it out of the dark hall, back into the whirring, slowly winding down main room of the fellows’ restaurant. Dean Shea and Madame Kehane have vanished, and other tables are similarly vacant. An untouched chateaubriand’s sitting on our table. Lacie’s wine, however, is mostly empty.